Love and Spying
by Karbonado
Summary: There's a rumour circulating around that France is dating someone and England wants to get to the bottom of it. That means spying.


The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (or England) does not acknowledge himself as a jealous, desperate man. At the very most, England would say he is a rather sentimental individual who prefers the past than the present – an era when everything was much simpler and easier. People could do almost whatever they wanted within reason, petty or otherwise. That also included attacking his eternal rival, France, for any reason, regardless how trivial or meaningless it was.

Oh how he longed to regale himself to the sight of the said Frenchman suffering and squirming underneath his feet pressing against his centre of gravity at his time of victory over him. His silky soft golden blonde hair tangled in knots, his unquestionably gorgeously handsome face chiseled by the angels themselves smeared in dirt and bleeding cuts, his sparkling sapphire blue eyes though tired and weary, burned with resent and anger. That amazingly perfect French Adonis of a man spitting out words of hatred and vendetta against him as the Englishman continued to leer down on him, smirking and coveting his-

"England?"

Startled out of his daze, England flinched in surprise and yelped after he lost his balance and landed flatly onto his back; the high branch he sat on shook a bit, scattered falling leaves landing on his injured body. Fortunately, his binoculars escaped unscathed, unlike him. He pushed his head backwards to see his two eldest (and favourite) sons, the North American twins, America and Canada. They both have a look of bewilderment and concern for their father who was blatantly spying in the trees of Central Park, staring in the direction of a nearby restaurant.

"Dad, are you alright?" Canada asked immediately, rushing to his former caretaker's aid. He helped him scoot up onto his haunches. The Englishman released a grunt of discomfort because of the pain in his back.

"I'm fine, Matthew." The island nation quickly reassured his fretting son who was trying to find any other additional injuries.

"Iggy, dude, what are you doing?" America asked crudely, slurping his _McDonald's_ milkshake loudly.

England grimaced at his son. Honestly, where had he (and France) gone wrong? "Nothing of your concern, git," he snapped.

America raised a thin brow in disbelief at his father. "Then why were you sitting on a branch with binoculars? Spying on Frannie?" he asked so nonchalantly.

England sputtered at his eldest son's statement. He quickly rose to his feet. "What? Such a preposterous accusation! I am not spying on the Frog! Whatever gave you such a ludicrous idea?"

"Okay then…" America replied. He was going to give his father the benefit of the doubt. "What _were_ you doing?"

The Brit instantly froze. Drat. He did not have an excuse. His emerald green eyes wandered a bit, scattering everywhere else until a small bird caught his sight. "B-bird watching," he replied.

The twins stared at their English father. "…What?"

The island nation folded his arms in an attempt to appear disapproving, hut his face was slightly tinged red in embarrassment. "H-how else would you have a better view of the birds?"

Canada made a face. "In a tree…staring in the direction of a _restaurant_?"

"O-of course!" England said his chin up high and proud. "There are many fascinating specimen of avian around these parts!"

Both twins stared at each other before staring at their father.

"Uh…Dad," the twins both said at the same time. "Are you okay?"

England glared at his sons (mostly at America), his thick brows furrowing. "Of course I am fine! Why wouldn't I be?" he quickly stomped off, refusing to answer any possible upcoming questions his sons would have. He muttered under his breath at such cheekiness the youth was displaying nowadays.

America and Canada's eyes followed their father's retreating figures into the distance.

"What was that all about?" America asked.

Canada shrugged his shoulders in response.

* * *

England ignored the pain in his back from falling out of the tree. He had not realized that France had already left the restaurant during the confrontation of their sons. England had no clue where he had gone. He should have brought the Magic Mirror.

England could not help but have an uncomfortable ache in his chest as he continued to think about that rumour of his rival _dating_! The moment he had heard of this, the Briton wanted to confirm if the gossip was true. Obviously, he could not just ask France because the Frog would only tease him by only feeding him vague details and run off when it suits him. So the most apparent opinion was to follow (stalk) him and try obtaining any information regarding his possible, rumoured relationship.

Honestly, was France trying to make England angry? Of course he would, but still! Why should he date someone who knows next to _nothing_ about him when he was right there…?

England paused for a moment, his mind trying to process what he just thought about a second ago.

What on Earth was he thinking?!

England, in a relationship with _France_ of all people; how vulgar!

He would never be in a relationship with the Frog! It would be impossible.

France would never look at England that way.

And yet, the mere idea of his France being in a relationship with someone else made the Brit go livid; there was this unquenchable desire for England to destroy or sabotage any and all romantic relationships France would obtain. It had been there for centuries.

At first, England merely dismissed it as disgust. The thought his rival being happy and in love made him want to vomit. Oddly, there was this unexplained hatred towards the latter and just mere anger at his French childhood rival. He wanted to murder that bastard or bitch who dared to touch him any more than just friends. Eventually, when he did come to terms for the feelings he has for France, he thought it was unfathomable. How could he have romantic feelings for a French frog who gallivants around, flirting and have meaningless sex? It made no sense to him.

The process unfortunately accelerated when he first heard of the Auld Alliance between the Frenchman and his eldest brother, Scotland; and when he heard of France's on-again-off-again relationship with Spain and Prussia.

Eventually, England came to terms with his feelings for France that weren't simply just rivalry.

Any given time when he witnessed or even heard of France's romantic conquests, horrible bouts of jealousy bloomed and ached in his chest. As time continued, lust and desire flowered and unobtainable fantasies filled his head.

England wanted to rip France away from his brother's arms and hold him in his. He wanted to take his fine, dainty, aristocratic hand in marriage. He wanted to mark him, covet him; to make him his.

England ever so desperately wanted to kill Spain and Prussia in the most horrific way possible as he imagined them both claiming France. That Spanish bastard decorating France's soft peaches and cream skin with bright red hickeys and bite mark; that damn kraut teases him relentlessly, causing the Frenchman to moan so wantonly and begging for more.

England wants to be the one doing that France: ravishing him and making him beg for more and say the words "I love you" to him and him only.

France belongs to him and no one else. France's heart, mind and body – his very being – was his solely and he would be damned if he let anyone else tried to steal him away. For as long he has France's heart, nobody could ever have him truly. Such a vicious, jealous and possessive admirer from afar, forever watching his beloved who was always out of reach; and yet that does not stop him from fantasizing what could be.

A positively divine image of France writhed underneath England, having the most delicious and vulnerable sexual expression on his gorgeously androgynous face. His unparalleled sapphire blue eyes half-lidded, but filled with lust and love for only him; his face only a mere inch away from his drifted into his mind. His cheeks were flushed heavily with heat and desire, panting at the pleasure England was and would make him experience.

" _You are mine and mine alone…_ " England whispered hotly and so softly into France's ear. " _But…_ " he said, his thumb gently prodding open the Frenchman's lips, his almost touching. " _If your heart does not belong to me…I'll simply steal you away…_ "

The dream version of France moaned in response. His expression screamed of wanting more. " _Yours…_ " France whispered back. " _I have always been yours…_ "

England's smile slowly merged into a subtle smirk. " _Good._ "

England began kissing France, slowly from a simple chaste kiss which deepened into a passionate deep kiss. France gasped and moaned into the kiss as the younger nation's hands drifted down and seductively touched him.

" _Arthur …_ " France whispered repeatedly, full of love and want and trembling. " _Angleterre-_ "

"Angleterre, what are you doing here?"

Once again, England was snapped awake from his beautiful fantasies and found France standing behind him.

"I…I could be asking you the same thing, Frog!" The island nation spat out. "Why are you here?"

France smiled softly and stared at the beautiful lake view as light sparkled against the water. "Such a beautiful moment like this is hard to find in an industrialized city like New York."

In that moment, the background surrounding the Frenchman was stunning. So mesmerizing…

"Though, I do take it that is why you are here in the park, is it, Angleterre?"

France's voice broke the spell he had inadvertently casted upon. England shook his head. "Of course not; I'm…bird watching," he replied, using the same poor excuse he had used on their sons. "But what about you, preying upon poor unsuspecting victims?"

France dramatically gasped, clutching his chest and his wrist on his forehead like a diva. "Oh, how lowly you think of moi, Angleterre; such an image you have painted. I should be appalled." But then he trailed off. "Though then again, I am more so about you spying on me."

England froze when he heard those words. "What?"

The handsome Frenchman turned his head. "I know, Arthur." He repeated. "Why were you spying on me?" he leaned in. "Were you jealous?"

England sputtered, his pale, freckled face burning a bright red, "J-jealous? Me? Ridiculous!"

The slightly older nation slinked towards the other. "You are a terrible liar, Arthur. I saw that look in your face. Such anger burning in your eyes. You needn't be so jealous." His hand reached around the latter's waist and pulled him close. "My eyes are for you only."

England blushed and tried to scowl, but it appeared as an adorable pout. "I don't believe you, Frog."

"Oh?" France breathed, leaning in close, his breath hot. "Maybe I should persuade you."

The Briton's heart fluttered in eager anticipation, but he continued to scowl (pout), not wanting to be swept into believing such sweet words that may be false. He tried to push the older nation away, muttering, "In your dreams, Frog."

France smiled somewhat lustfully and predatorily. "I have always made my dreams come true, mon cher, one way or another." He leaned in forward, slowly closing the distance between their lips. England's eyes widened in shock, but did nothing to resist. Instead, he closed his eyes and patiently waited his heart beating like a jackhammer for the kiss. But, the action was interrupted when they heard a rustling from the bushes and two voices, one a loud whisper and the other barely above a murmur, emitting behind them.

"Move, Mattie! I want to see!"

"Ow! Al!"

England scowled surly, recognizing the two voices. France, unimpressed, called out the two peeping toms. He released his rival, both sulking internally that their moment was ruined.

"Alfred, Mathieu, we know you are there."

Two head emerged out from the bushes, revealing a pouting America and a sheepish Canada.

"Aw, Frannie, how did you know?"

"Call me 'Papa', Alfred; and it was rather obvious."

Canada's cheeks turned a bright red. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"Alfred, were you following me?" England demanded. "Where have I gone wrong in raising you, you twat?" he sighed in such disappointment.

"Hey! Why are you blaming me? Mattie's here too!"

England folded his arms. "Unlike you, Matthew is a compliant young man who has troubles saying 'no' to others because of his kind-hearted, introverted nature that can be easily overwhelmed by rambunctious, undisciplined extroverts such as yourself who are unable to listen anybody else's voice but their own. At worst, Matthew is an unwilling victim that was forced into such participation."

America stared at his father. "…What?"

"It means I blame _you_ and you _only_ and _not_ your poor brother!"

The older twin pouted. England regained his composure. "I digress. Answer the question."

"Yeah…but you were acting weird, Iggy! So we-"

"-Al, you dragged me along when I told you we shouldn't." Canada added quietly.

"-started following you in the bushes. It took a while, but we found you and Frannie! About to do…something," America continued. Both the twins did not see what their fathers were in the midst of. "What were you two doing?"

France was all too happily to reply until England stopped him, covering his mouth with his hand. "H-how about we return to our rooms? It has been a long day."

America pouted, but nevertheless, agreed. America and Canada were ahead of their imperial parents just a bit, conversing about what should they eat for dinner. France and England smiled at their sight of their children as they slowly followed them from behind.

"So, Arthur," France started. "You did not answer my question: why were you spying on me?"

The Englishman blushed, but did not answer back. "I wasn't spying on you, Frog."

The Frenchman rolled his eyes. "Do not lie to me, Arthur. We both have known each other for very long time; we know everything about each other, including knowing when the other is lying."

The Briton's face heated to a lovely shade of red. "I-I still do not know what you are talking about."

France shook his head. "Stubborn Englishman; you will never change."

England grumbled under his breath.

France leaned in and whispered into England's ear, "I am not dating anyone, just so you know."

The Englishman spluttered. "W-why should I care if you're dating anyone, Frog?" he had just claimed he did not care, but there was a warm, joyful feeling spreading in his chest.

France gave a playful wink to his rival. "I know about the rumours regarding moi, mon petit lapin~! I know you were jealous~!"

"Jealous? I am not jealous, you cheese-eating surrender monkey! If anything, I-!" England was cut off. His lips were captured in a smoldering kiss by France. Emerald green eyes stared in shock, but slowly melted into the kiss. France disregarded the reaction his sons made when they caught the scene while England did not notice.

"Ew! Gross! What the hell is wrong with you?!" America hollered, shielding his eyes at the scene between his fathers. He blindly grabbed his brother's wrist and quickly running away, dragging him off towards their rooms.

"M-maple! Alfred!" Canada cried out.

The two European countries unlocked their lips. France placed his forehead onto England's and both stared into each other's eyes.

"Ne ment pas, mon amour," France whispered. "Je vous ai aimé depuis que nous étions enfants. J'ai attendu mille ans; je peux attendre un peu plus."

England blushed. His eyes wandered away from the nation in front of him. "You…you don't have to." He muttered, his eyes flickering towards France. "You don't need to wait for so long."

France smiled. "Of course; you are an impatient man. Though, if you _can_ wait," he started, whispering to England's ear. "Once we return to our rooms tonight, we can resume what we have started."

And with that, the Frenchman turned and went off, trying to catch up to his sons who were surprisingly still within seeing range. England's face turned as red as Spain's tomatoes. He shook his head and smirked slightly to himself before deciding to run after his family.

"Oi, you wankers! Slow down!"

He cannot wait until it was night.

* * *

 **Disclaimer: do NOT own.**

 _Ne ment pas, mon amour_ \- Do not lie, my love

 _Je vous ai aimé depuis que nous étions enfants. J'ai attendu mille ans; je peux attendre un peu plus_ \- I have loved you since we were children. I waited a thousand years; I can wait a little more

Despite popular belief, England (and pretty much a lot of European countries) is actually fluent in French. Back in the day when monarchies and aristocracies were still in enormous power, the Royal Courts and higher ranked nobility spoke French because France was an influential superpower.

I'm pretty sure England spoke French to the colonies who were formerly owned by France to comfort them and such since I personally do not see him necessarily a terrible father; emotionally stunted and awkward, yes, but not a horrible father (figure).

I updated/improved this since I realized that there some parts that could have been made better and or did not make sense when I read it again. So I did and or tried. I _do_ check my work, but not thoroughly...which is a bad thing, I know.

This was inspired by this (weird) dream I had. France was in some fancy restaurant with some anonymous person with the window to his back. England was blatantly sitting on a tree branch spying on France. France had a weird feeling he was being watched so he turned, but found no one there. Meanwhile, England fell out of the tree.


End file.
